


Three Scars

by SkyScribbles



Series: It Feels Like Light [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Because I'm sappy, Forehead Touching, Knights of the Fallen Empire, M/M, Non-Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Scars, Shadow of Revan, Short One Shot, That Thing Where They Touch Each Other's Scars, The Nathema Conspiracy, Time Skips, Very Vaguely NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-24 23:36:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14964390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyScribbles/pseuds/SkyScribbles
Summary: Theron and the Outlander just can't seem to stop collecting scars. And after Nathema, they have a matching set.





	Three Scars

Their first time, on Yavin, there’s only one scar.

It’s Zeth’s, though it takes some time for Theron to see it. First, there’s a lot of fumbling with belts and sashes, and quiet laughter from both of them about how surely Jedi robes don’t need to be _this_ complicated. Theron, who was out of his jacket and shirt in five seconds, suggests that they should just get a vibroknife and make the whole process quicker. But finally, Zeth manages to wriggle out of his gauntlets, then his tunic, then two shirts. He swallows, and his fingers bunch into the final garment for a moment before he lets it drop to the floor.

Theron reaches out to touch his arm, trying to communicate through the soft contact that he knows Zeth’s nervous, knows that throwing off all those Jedi Code teachings can’t be easy. And that’s when he notices the mark on Zeth’s chest. A thick streak, about the size of a credit chip, pale against his brown skin.

He forgets about it for a moment, because as Zeth drops his shirt he looks at Theron with so much worry and so much _want_ in his eyes that it’s impossible not to kiss him, to hold him close and run hands and then lips over his skin. But even though Zeth responds eagerly, there’s still nervousness in his every move. So after a moment Theron draws back, meeting Zeth’s eyes, hoping he’ll understand that the shared gaze says, silently, _are you all right? Are you still sure about this? Nothing happens unless you're ready._

Zeth does seem to understand, because he nods, and smiles, and somehow Theron knows that he’s asking for just a moment to gather himself. And as he waits, letting Zeth breathe slowly in and out, he can’t stop his gaze from dropping back to the scar. A lightsabre wound, probably. It’s clearly years old, and for it to still be so vivid after all that time… it must have been deep. And painful.

‘Vitiate.’

Theron glances up, and Zeth – he’s seen him looking – dips his head towards the scar. ‘Vitiate gave me that. When I fought him on Dromund Kaas.’

‘Looks like it was bad.’

‘It… wasn’t pleasant. But I was counting on that.’

‘You were counting on being stabbed?’

Zeth shakes his head. He seems a little less tense now, as if talking about something unrelated is helping him relax. ‘I was counting on it keeping his blade arm still. I couldn’t break through his defences, so… I let him break through mine. The moment I sensed him taking the strike, I made my own, and… that was it. He was dead before he had time to stab me too deep.’

Theron reaches out to trace the edges of the scar with his fingertips. ‘Still. You’re lucky to be alive.’

‘I never expected to be,’ Zeth says, very, very calmly. ‘Lord Scourge healed me. Some… Dark Side technique he’d learned from Vitiate. It was enough to keep me alive until my crew could get me proper medical attention.’

For a few seconds, Theron just stares at him. He doesn’t know what’s worse, the thought of Zeth coming so close to death, or how damn _casual_ he is about it. Just his luck, to fall for someone who’s going to be the first person to lead the charge when the Emperor resurfaces, and for that someone to be willing to throw himself on Vitiate’s blade in a heartbeat, if that’s what it takes to save the galaxy. Just his stars-damn luck.

‘It was meant to be over then.’ The anxiety is back in Zeth's voice. ‘I thought… I thought he was gone. I was ready to die to stop him, and I thought I had, but now he’s back, and –’

Theron grasps hold of Zeth’s arm with his free hand. ‘Cut that out. We’ll deal with him. Right now, you don’t worry about it. Don’t even think about it. Just - let it go.’

Under his fingertips, Zeth’s ribs rise and fall as he draws in a breath, deep and slow, and releases it. Theron places his palm flat against the scar, spreading out his fingers until the mark is concealed, and wishes he could cover up every inch of Zeth's skin like this. So that Vitiate, or any other monster, could never touch him again. No one should get to touch Zeth in any way except like this, the way Theron is now, with tenderness and longing.

_No one touches him,_ Theron silently growls at the galaxy, drawing Zeth in to kiss him again. _No one but me._

* * *

Their first time after Zeth comes back from the dead, there are two scars.

The second is a little way above and to the left of the first. It’s less ragged, as if the healing process went more smoothly, but it's larger. Theron frowns as he touches it, and glances up at Zeth, who smiles ruefully. ‘Arcann. From when I fought him on Asylum.’

‘Must have gone deep,’ Theron says, and on a whim he reaches around to feel the matching spot on Zeth’s back. Yes – as he suspected, there’s a patch of scar tissue there. The blade went right through.

Right through. Theron goes still. The image of Zeth pierced, impaled on Arcann’s lightsaber, his skin ripped apart and flesh burned to shreds is -  is wrong and painful and it makes him grit his teeth and grasp Zeth’s arms and think about nothing except how he wasn’t there to stop it from happening.

‘How are you even still alive?’ He isn’t all that surprised, what with how many insane things he’s seen Zeth live through, but still. A lightsaber right through the torso isn’t something you just walk away from. ‘Don’t tell me you had another Dark Side healer to hand.’

This prompts Zeth to snort with amusement. ‘Actually, I, um, did. Sort of. Valkorion… he healed me. I suppose it’s a little ironic that he gave me the first scar and stopped the second from killing me.’

Theron manages not to wince. He _hates_ thinking about this. He hates thinking about how the same monster who who wiped out everyone on Ziost, who waged war on the galaxy, who gave Zeth that first scar, is now somehow inside the very body Theron’s holding onto so tightly. And, no, not just because it’s awkward, thinking about Valkorion… watching. Because he’s planning something. He wants Zeth alive for a reason, and it can’t be a good reason - but Theron can’t do anything. He can’t pull Valkorion out of Zeth’s mind, and even with all his skills and resources he can’t find out what Valkorion has planned.

He forces the uncomfortable thought from his mind, and tries to smile. ‘You really need to stop letting Emperors stab you.’

‘I didn’t exactly wake up one day as a Padawan and decide it would be fun to devote the rest of my life to being impaled.’

‘You’ve got a funny way of showing it.’

‘All right, Theron. If it makes you feel better, you have my word as a Jedi that I will try to avoid being stabbed by Emperors. Or anyone.’ His voice is thick with amusement, and that’s enough to make Theron smile for real. ‘I can’t make any promises about avoiding the Emperors, though. Fighting them is… sort of my job.’

Theron bites back a sigh. He’d thought he was long past wishing he’d been born with the Force. He’s let go of his childhood visions of the future and made himself a life, a life he's proud of. But right now, he wishes he could wield a lightsaber with the same skill Zeth does, because then he could stand right there with him when he’s locked in a duel. He’d have a weapon that could turn aside a lightsaber blow.

Still. That’s never going to happen. And he doesn’t need the Force, not when he’s got two blasters, a network of contacts, and implants with a thousand uses. He’s got all the weapons he needs, and he’ll use them. Arcann better believe he’ll use them.

And even if he can’t do much against a lightsaber… right now, he can run his thumb over this second scar. A silent promise that from now on, he’ll be here to stand between Zeth and anything that would give him a third.

* * *

Their first time after Nathema, there are three scars.

And this time, it’s Zeth who’s pursing his lips at the sight and reaching down to brush the twisted flesh with gentle fingertips. His other hand presses against Theron’s back, tracing the new-mended skin where Atrius’s blade went in.

Theron’s relieved when there’s no pain. The medics gave him the all-clear only this afternoon. For the past few days, it’s hurt to walk and turn and laugh, and for the past few nights, he and Zeth have just lain curled against each other. And that’s been okay, because... that’s all Theron’s wanted. It’s what he’s been aching for all that time with the Order of Zildrog. To be able to hold Zeth again, to lie close enough to him to hear his twin Zabrak hearts beating, to just – just not have him hundreds of light-years away and thinking that Theron wants him dead. 

But now he's back. And Zeth's forgiven him. And Theron can finally move without pain, so he’s allowed that ache to blossom into a hunger.

He watches Zeth’s long, graceful fingers brushing the new scar, and feels himself smile. ‘Guess we match now. Or… half-match.’

Zeth shakes his head a little. ‘Don’t go getting yourself another one of these. There’s really no need to make us a matched set.’

His tone is light, but his voice cracks on the last words, and a shudder runs through him. ‘I thought –’

‘I know,’ Theron says, because he thought he was dead too. And he knows now why Zeth never expected to live when he let Vitiate stab him, because it turns out that when a lightsaber goes right through you, everything stops. A moment of white-hot agony, and then the world caves in around you and everything is burning and through a haze of pain and fear you have a second to realise that you can’t survive this. And maybe you have one more second to hear the man you love screaming your name, hoarse and terrified like you’ve never heard him before, and to think about how much you love him and how damn _sorry_ you are.

Then you’re incapable of clear thought any more.

He looks at Zeth’s scars with new eyes, knowing now how much pain he went through when he got them. At least he didn’t have to watch Zeth going through that. At least he didn’t have to hold him, the way Zeth held him back on Nathema, or beg him to live. Because Zeth begged, with the same words he used when Theron left him on Umbara. _Theron, no, don’t do this. Come back. Please, come back._

The sound of Zeth letting out a sigh jolts him back to the present. And _present_ is the right word, because that’s how he feels in this moment. Intensely, vividly present. Aware, more than he’s ever been before, of the breath in his own lungs and the ground beneath his feet and every other sensation that tells him he’s alive. He leans forward to press his forehead against Zeth’s – cautiously, because he’s learned the hard way how much it hurts to accidentally knock yourself against a Zabrak’s horns – and closes his eyes to savour the feeling of this most precious of sensations, that of their skin touching.

‘Look at us,’ Zeth says after a moment. ‘We’re – ’

He hesitates, but Theron understands. ‘Scarred.'

'Mmm. But… I suppose that just shows we're still here. I mean... we didn’t die.'

Theron laughs, but he knows what Zeth means. They took wounds. They bled and they hurt and they fell to the ground with their faces pressed into the dirt. And then they got up again. They walked away. They healed. And they still have each other, to touch each other’s scars, every brush of skin against skin saying _we’re here, we made it. We didn’t die._ And as Zeth’s hands rest against his chest, and his lips press to Theron’s forehead, Theron has never felt more strongly that them making it out alive is such a damn miracle.

'Yeah,' he says. 'We're still here.'


End file.
